Sawmill Springs

by Gerri Hill

  “Yeah. That way takes you back to the pond and where he’s got his deer blinds.”

  “Does anyone fish it anymore?” Kayla asked, referring to the pond. “That used to be one of my favorite things to do when we’d come out here.”

  “His boys still come out some, I think, but it’s not like it used to be. They’ve both got little kids now. Seems nobody’s got time anymore for simple things like fishing.”

  Murphy noticed his wistful tone, and she wondered if he was also talking about himself. When she was young, she remembered many a lazy Saturday when she’d spend the entire day at her grandmother’s place, fishing until suppertime. It was a memory she held dear. Probably fishing with her father was a good memory for Kayla too.

  “Turn up here, to the left,” he said.

  “I don’t remember this drive at all,” she said. “Of course, we usually only went to the pond when we came out here.” When the cabin came into view, Kayla’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God.”

  “Yeah, it’s a far cry from that old hunting shack.”

  “It looks like a real cabin.”

  “He put those half logs on for siding And added on some rooms in the back.”

  “Don’t see a vehicle,” Murphy said from the backseat.

  “Drive on around to the side,” her father directed with a wave of his hand. “If he’s here hiding, then he’s got his truck parked around back in the woods.”

  They didn’t make it around to the back though. A man came out onto the porch with a shotgun in his hands. A man who she assumed was Ned Dixon.

  “That damn fool,” her father mumbled. “Stop the car.”

  She and Kayla got out too, but Kayla stopped her with a touch on her arm. “Let him go first. Uncle Ned looks a bit…well, a bit scary.”

  His face had several days of stubble on it and a baseball cap was hiding his hair, which still stuck out around the edges. His clothes were wrinkled and scruffy. He looked as disheveled as a homeless man. She assumed this wasn’t his normal look.

  “Put the damn shotgun down, Ned.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m fearing for my life, that’s what the hell is wrong.” He motioned with his gun. “Who’s that with Kayla?”

  “Put the damn shotgun down,” her father said again. “That there’s my new officer, Murphy. You’ll scare her half to death waving that thing around.”

  “Is it just me or do you also feel like there should be banjo music playing?” she whispered, causing Kayla to laugh quietly.

  “He’s not a crazy mountain man,” Kayla said. “At least he used to not be.” She nudged her elbow. “Come on.”

  They went inside the cabin, into a kitchen. It looked like a rustic home, comfortable enough to live in. Nothing about the inside indicated it was an old hunting shack. She glanced around quickly, her eyes lighting on the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table. Ned sat down and poured a shot. Judging by the smell around him, he’d been drinking for a while.

  “Kinda early for whiskey, ain’t it?”

  “I guess it depends on your state of mind, now don’t it?” he held the bottle up to Earl. “Want a shot?”

  “Don’t believe I do, Ned.” Earl leaned his arms on the chair next to Ned. “You gonna tell me what you’re mixed up in?”

  “Ain’t got nothing to say to you, Earl.”

  “No? Well, you already said you were fearing for your life. I got Guy Woodard shot dead. Now Lance Foster shot dead. Hell, half the town thinks we got a serial killer on the loose.” He stood up, walking around behind Ned. “And we come up here and find you hiding out, clutching a damn shotgun in your hands…fearing for your life.” He put an arm around his shoulder. “So don’t you tell me you ain’t got nothing to say to me.”

  “What are you doing here anyway? With them, no less.”

  Earl looked over at her and Kayla. “‘Them’, as you say, are my two best officers. Murphy…tell Ned here what you found.”

  Murphy walked around the table so that she could face Ned Dixon. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the whiskey or lack of sleep.

  “Mr. Dixon, I’m Officer Murphy. Kayla and I discovered a link between Guy Woodard and Lance Foster. It seems that Mr. Foster videoed his meetings in his office. He kept the memory cards locked up.”

  “Videoed?”

  “Yes, sir. With a hidden camera. His secretary was aware of the memory cards. Besides Guy Woodard, your name was mentioned, as well as the mayor, Floyd Niemeyer.”

  “Billy N,” Earl interjected. “Now what the hell were you doing meeting with Lance Foster?”

  “You say you got video recordings?”

  “No, we’re saying they existed. They’ve been taken, apparently.”

  Kayla sat down at the table beside him. “What’s going on, Uncle Ned?”

  “You just get back in town?”

  “Last week.” Kayla smiled at him. “And this is my first week on the job. It’s been rather busy, to say the least.” Murphy watched as Kayla put a hand on her uncle’s arm. “What’s going on?” she asked again. “To hear Dad tell it, you and Lance Foster couldn’t stand each other.”

  “Yeah, well, that didn’t change.” He poured another shot of whiskey. “Lance Foster got us into a bit of trouble. Now, it seems like we all got prices on our heads.”

  Earl walked around the table. “For what, Ned? Prices for what?”

  “Lance got me involved in something—something bad.” He tossed back his whiskey. “Drugs, Earl. He got me involved in the drug business.”

  “Drugs! What do you mean, the drug business?”

  “I mean we were moving them from Houston to other cities.”

  “Cocaine? Marijuana? Something else?” she asked.

  “Cocaine, mostly,” he said.

  Earl slammed his fist on the table. “Cocaine? I’m the goddamn chief of police and you’re dealing cocaine? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Look, I didn’t want to do it. But Lance and Guy came out to the plant one day last year. Said they had someone in Houston who needed to move the drugs. They had this plan. We’d hide it in the concrete statues and ship it out.”

  “Ship it out where?” she asked.

  “There’s this company that I sell my stuff to. It’s like a distribution center. They then sell it to Lowes and Home Depot and places like that.”

  “So where the hell does it end up?” Earl asked.

  “I don’t know. My part of the deal is to put the cocaine in the statues and ship them out. That’s all I know. What happens after that, I have no idea.”

  “How do you get the drugs in the first place?” she asked.

  “That was Billy N’s part of the deal. All I know is, once a week I’m stuffing drugs into my molds as the concrete hardens.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Ned, but this makes absolutely no sense. Why would a drug dealer involve outsiders like you and Lance Foster in his drug business? I mean, you’re only moving it a few hundred miles, aren’t you?”

  Ned shrugged. “Look, I told you, Guy and Lance came to me with this scheme. And the distribution center services not only Texas, but Oklahoma, Arkansas and Louisiana too.”

  “Why would you go along with it, for God’s sake?” her father demanded.

  “Because they offered me a lot of money, that’s why.”

  “How was Guy Woodard involved?” Kayla asked.

  “He washed all the money through the bank.”

  “How much money are we talking?” Kayla asked.

  Ned shrugged. “I don’t know. My cut was ten grand a week.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ned. That was your cut? Exactly how much of this crap were you sending out?”

  “A lot—forty or fifty statues a week.”

  “One kilo per statue?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She whistled. “Street value is what? Eighteen, twenty thousand per kilo?”r />
  “We’ve seen it go for twenty-five in the Dallas area,” Kayla said.

  “So you’re telling me you package close to a million dollars of cocaine a week?” Earl said. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “If your cut was ten grand, what do you think Guy Woodard and Lance Foster were getting?” she asked.

  “More than me, that’s all I know.”

  “So something went wrong, obviously, if they’re dead,” she said.

  “Yeah, something went wrong. Lance started skimming off the top, that’s what. Each kilo wasn’t a kilo anymore. It was ten or fifteen grams short.”

  “He was selling it on the side?” Earl shook his head. “Jesus Christ. In my town?”

  “No, Earl. He claimed he had somebody in Dallas.”

  “Who is Mr. X?” Kayla asked.

  “That’s…that’s the dude in Houston. I don’t know his name. That’s what Lance and Guy called him.”

  “How is goddamn Billy N involved in this?”

  “He’s got that trucking company. Best I can tell, that’s how they get the drugs from Houston to Sawmill Springs.”

  “So you—Ned Dixon—got involved with the likes of Guy Woodard, Lance Foster and goddamn Billy N? None of the three would give you the time of day out in public, you know that, right? Hell, you and Billy N used to get into fights in high school nearly every damn day! Yet you go into business with him? The goddamn drug business?” Earl again slammed his fist on the table. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “You’ve got to protect me, Earl. First Guy, then Lance. Me and Billy N are next, I just know it. You’ve got to protect me.”

  “Protect you? Hell, I should throw your ass in jail, that’s what I should do,” he said loudly.

  Murphy rubbed her eyes, then glanced over at Kayla. They both knew Earl would do no such thing.

  “Does this Mr. X know who all was involved? Does he know about you?” Kayla asked.

  “Sure he does. He knows we use the statues.”

  “Have you met him?”

  Ned shook his head. “No. Like I said, I have no idea who he is. Some dude from Houston, that’s all I know.”

  “Judging by Lance Foster’s appointment book, he met with the guy at least once a month,” she said. “If Niemeyer’s trucks brought the cocaine up here, then why would this Mr. X need to be that involved? I mean, here in Sawmill Springs. Why would he even come to the area?”

  “Maybe he’s not the boss. Maybe he’s just checking on their investment,” Kayla suggested.

  “Does Charlotte know about this, Ned?”

  “No. She thinks the concrete business is doing exceptional this year,” he said as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “What excuse did you give her for you hiding out here at the cabin? She wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

  “I told her I had some repairs to do on the deer blinds and that I was going to take a few days off. And I told her not to tell anyone. Told her I didn’t want company.”

  “Then I suggest you keep yourself here,” Earl said. “Let us try to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”

  “Oh, and you’re going to need a new chain for your gate,” Kayla told him.

  Ned looked up at Earl. “What’d you do?”

  “I cut the son of a bitch, that’s what. You changed locks on me.”

  “Oh, yeah, forgot to give you the new one. Well, I’ve got some chain out in the shed. I’ll take the four-wheeler down there and replace it.”

  “And answer your damn cell phone,” Earl said.

  “I know you’re mad at me, Earl.”

  “Mad don’t even begin to touch what I feel right now, Ned. Now you just hang tight until we figure out what’s going on.”

  Murphy would have handcuffed him and brought him in. His confession of drug trafficking needed to be addressed, and he would be safer locked up in jail than anywhere else. She knew Earl wouldn’t go for that though. A small town like this? The news would spread like wildfire.

  It was a silent ride back into Sawmill Springs with her and Kayla exchanging glances several times in the mirror. They both had questions, no doubt, but neither of them voiced them.

  When they got into town, Earl said tersely, “Drop me off at the station. I’ve got some calls to make.”

  “Shouldn’t we discuss this? Come up with a plan of action?” Kayla asked.

  “Yeah, as soon as I have one, I’ll let you know what it is.”

  “Dad…”

  “You two get over to Billy N’s trucking company. It’s on the other side of the interstate. Bring his ass in and we’ll question him.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t take a patrol car. Either you or Murphy drive. Don’t want to call attention to anything.”

  “We’re wearing uniforms,” Kayla reminded him.

  “Then change into street clothes. I don’t want anything getting around town just yet, until I figure out what in the goddamn hell I’m going to do.” Kayla had barely pulled to a stop before he opened his door and got out. “Bring him in around back. Make sure Lori doesn’t see you. Use the back door to my office.”

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler if we said we were bringing him in as the mayor, just to discuss the current situation with the murders?” Murphy suggested.

  “Yeah, it might be,” he snapped. “But I don’t have time to think about it, so do as I say.” He slammed the door and hurried into the station.

  Kayla turned around in the seat to face her. “I like your suggestion. It makes it all simpler.”

  “Yeah, but I guess I wouldn’t mind getting out of this uniform,” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Kayla smiled at her, her blue eyes twinkling. “You look awfully cute in it.”

  Murphy’s eyebrows shot up. Did Kayla really just say that? God, she hated it when straight women flirted with her. But when they were as cute as Kayla was…well, she supposed she could make an exception.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kayla stood in Murphy’s kitchen, eaten up with envy at how large it was. There was at least four times more counter space in it as in her duplex.

  “Planning a meal?”

  She turned, finding Murphy in jeans and a polo shirt. Her own change of clothes was into pressed khakis and a light blue blouse. She’d have much rather slipped into her jeans instead.

  “I was coveting your counter space,” she said, answering Murphy’s question.

  “Well, feel free to plan a meal. I make an excellent taste-tester.”

  “Really? Then how about tonight?”

  “Sure. But, you know, food-wise, it’s pretty bare.”

  “So we’ll go by the grocery store,” she said, mentally going over her menus, trying to find one that wasn’t too complicated.

  “Deal. I’ll buy, you cook.” Murphy smiled broadly. “I get leftovers, of course.”

  “Of course.” They went out the front and she waited while Murphy locked the door. “Your truck or my car?”

  “I’ll drive,” Murphy offered.

  “It still smells new,” she said when she got inside the white truck.

  “Yeah. I got it right before I moved here. Wanted something that would blend in better than the sports car I had.”

  Kayla nodded. “I can see you in a sports car, I guess, although I think this fits you.” As usual when Murphy drove, the air conditioner was on and the driver’s window was opened.

  “Do you mind the window?”

  “Not at all,” she said as she tucked her hair behind her ears to prevent it from blowing.

  “So…this Floyd Niemeyer, do you know him?”

  “I’d recognize him, yes, but I wouldn’t say I know him. He’s older than my father, so his kids were older than me in school. I don’t recall there ever being any interaction between our families.”

  “You haven’t really said anything about your uncle.”

  “I think I’m still in shock,” she said honestly. “I know m
y dad is.” She turned to look at her. “You would have cuffed him and brought him in, right?”

  Murphy nodded. “He confessed to trafficking drugs…yeah, I’d have arrested him on the spot. But again, I’m used to the city where there are checks and balances and things are done by the book.”

  “I know. Me too. I’ve had to tell myself to step back and look at it from a different angle. Small towns like this—small counties—it’s still a good old boy network. Judge Peters has a lot of power, but he’s also good friends with most, if not all, of the big names in town. Not to mention a lot of these men and their businesses are linked in one way or another. My uncle, on the other hand, isn’t a big name in town even though he’s got a successful business,” she said. “All of these men were born and raised here, and they all went through school together. A lot of the pecking order was established way back then.”

  “So you’re saying that even if it wasn’t your uncle—say it was Floyd Niemeyer who had confessed all of that—we still wouldn’t have cuffed him and brought him in.”

  “That’s right. And that’s the reason my dad wants this to remain secret. He wants us to bring Floyd in to find out what’s going on. He’s not looking to arrest him—at least not right now.”

  Murphy’s phone rang, and she picked it up from the console, her expression changing as she looked at it.

  “Excuse me,” she said and Kayla nodded. “Hey…what’s up?”

  Kayla glanced out the window, trying to give Murphy some privacy and not just blatantly listen to her conversation. Judging by her casual manner, it was a friend.

  “Yeah, I know. Been super busy with it all.” A pause. “No, nothing much to tell.”

  So maybe not a friend. Someone looking for information.

  “Dinner? Tonight?”

  Kayla brought her head around, finding Murphy looking at her. “Can’t tonight. Already have plans.”

  Okay…so not just a friend…someone asking for a dinner date.

  “I’ll have to let you know, Gloria. With everything that’s going on, it’s hard to say what my weekend will be like.” A quick nod. “Okay. I’ll call you. Bye.”

  Kayla had to bite her lip to stop herself from asking the most obvious question. Fortunately, Murphy volunteered the information.